Morning Routine
by beakanoma
Summary: Hank and Alex begin their day. 'X-Men: First Class' HankAlex slash. Short, sweet.


**Title:** Morning Routine  
**Author:** kevo  
**Pairing:** Hank/Alex  
**Rating**: PG-13 (mild language, mentions of sexing)  
**Warnings**: Ridiculously mushiness.  
**Word Count:** one shy of 890  
**Summary:** Hank and Alex begin their day.  
**Author's Note:** based off of a delicious prompt asking for some tenderness: "_Hank loves all the sex with his hot boyfriend, don't get him wrong!__It's just that he loves how Alex slips his glasses on and parts his hair for him on the mornings when he's fumbling and extra tired even__**more**__._"

Alex Summers is never tired.

Hank doesn't know how he manages this. He can wake up at 5am and stay awake until 2am, then do it all over again the next day without a problem. Maybe it has something to do with the nature of his mutation. It warrants some further research but he doubts he could get his boyfriend to agree to it.

_Boyfriend._

Even at this cruel hour in the morning, with sleep still clinging to his barely-conscious mind, the word makes Hank smile. He would still have trouble believing it if Alex hadn't been the one to say it first. Shaw's attack and Darwin's death changed something in the angry young man. Mockery quickly softened to teasing. They were only at Xavier's mansion two days when Alex came to Hank's room before bed and didn't leave until the next morning. Alex's own room hasn't been slept in since.

"Hank," Alex whispers at the taller man's back. "Come on, pal, it's time to get up."

The "hrnngh" Hank groans into his pillow isn't much of a response but it's all he can muster when he's awake before the sun is.

"Nuh-uh-uh," Alex insists, peeling away Hank's cocoon of blankets. "You're not getting off so easy, bigfoot."

"You never let me get off easy," Hank notes wryly.

"Well duh. Where's the fun in that?" Alex replies.

While Alex isn't his first sexual partner, he's definitely the best Hank has ever had. The man knows what he's doing. Hank never came without touching himself before. (_Those hips..._) And he's pretty much down to fuck anytime, anywhere. Hank's lab, the target-practice bunker, the grounds, Charles's room. The list goes on. (The last one was Alex's idea, of course, curious to see if the telepath's ability would let him catch them. It did.)

And if the sex were all Alex had to offer, Hank would gladly still take it. He's more glad, however, that it's not.

"You're not going to trick me into staying in bed with sexy talk," Alex warns him. "Fool me once and all that."

Whining and offers of sex are Hank's only line of defense. Now that Alex has built up a tolerance to them he doubts he'll ever get to sleep in again. Hank accepts this defeat graciously.

"I hate you," he grumbles as he sits up.

The statement does nothing to abate Alex's affections. He knows how Hank gets when he's sleepy. He drags the groggy man to the bathroom, fine-tuning the shower's temperature as Hank brushes his teeth.

Hank didn't let Alex shower with him at first, nor ever see him completely naked (ie: without socks). They're well beyond that now. Hank barely thinks about it anymore when Alex's feet graze his own as they stumble over each other in the tiny stall not built to accommodate two men, except to feel grateful that Alex never bats an eye.

The water makes Hank's skin feel less dead, but doesn't do anything to jump start his brain. He lets Alex towel him dry and lead him back to the bedroom they've come to share. Hank begins searching for his glasses, a feat made all the more difficult when he's not wearing them.

"I keep telling you," Alex says, turning Hank gently by the shoulder, "that you need put these back in the same place every time."

The horn-rimmed frames are slid delicately onto his face, bringing Alex's smirk into sharp focus.

"That's hard to remember when you're ripping my clothes off," Hank counters.

"Good point."

They scavenge for something to wear that's as clean and wrinkle-free as possible. Alex tosses a T-shirt on quickly, then bats Hank's hand away to take over the task of buttoning his shirt.

"You don't need to do all this," Hank tells him.

"I'm the one who undressed you last night," Alex points out. "It's only fair that dress you back up in the morning."

Hank begins working on the tie around his neck. Alex sweeps a comb through his boyfriend's still-damp hair, studying Hank's fingers as they work. Hank hasn't mentioned seeing Alex practice tying a bowtie. A man's entitled to his secrets.

"Yeah, I know, but..."

He's afraid to express his concerns, fearing he might break this beautiful routine they've fallen into. Because it's not that he doesn't enjoy Alex taking care of him. He does, greatly. That said, he also doesn't want to be a burden.

"I like doing it," replies Alex, who at some point became intuitive. "I like seeing you later in the day, all handsome, and knowing I helped put you together. That I'm the one who straightened your ridiculous bowtie."

"You like my bowtie," Hank reminds him.

"No, I love your bowtie, just like I love -" The comb stills with Alex's words. He clears his throat loudly to cover the pause. "Uhh, just like I love seeing you."

Hank fights the soppy smile that's threatening to break out on his face, knowing that would probably be the thing to vex Alex. Instead, he lets Alex adjust his bowtie and give a slight nod of approval.

"I think you're ready to face the world, Dr. McCoy," Alex declares.

"Coffee first?" Hank begs.

"Yeah, let's get some caffeine in you, pal," Alex laughs.

He takes Hank's hand and walks him down to the kitchen.


End file.
